


The Stuff National Anthems Are Made Of

by luchia



Series: How To Be Co-Ruler Of Your Own Country Without Really Trying [2]
Category: X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Genosha, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-16
Updated: 2011-12-16
Packaged: 2017-10-27 09:45:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 19,008
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/294375
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/luchia/pseuds/luchia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Charles and Erik, unintentional co-rulers of the newly-formed Independent Sanctuary of Genosha, have a multi-national navy surrounding their island. Charles takes on the UN, leaving Erik to take on fatherhood and a brand new kind of responsibility, and together, they take on the first true enemy of Genosha.</p><p>Sequel to Three Kinds of Learning.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> This was written for the 2011 X-Men Big Bang on LJ, and has incredibly beautiful accompanying art by avienica, which can be found [here](http://avienica.livejournal.com/4912.html)! You should definitely go check it out!

> I began my interview with the same apprehension that most of my readers undoubtedly feel when it comes to mutants and the very concept of Genosha. However, being the first and only person on the planet invited to interview the near-fabled royal couple, there was really no option other than attending, and trying to write the best article of my life.
> 
> Genosha is beautiful. It has sandy beaches, a beautiful blue ocean, palm trees, and Hammer Bay is quickly on its way to a full recovery, thanks to the Independent Sanctuary of Genosha's superpowered population - the same beings that destroyed it in the first place. However, the validity of the mutant uprising has never been questioned, and this reporter isn't arguing that. Their oppression and use as slave labor is well documented, the horrific conditions they were subjected to is unquestionable, and personally, I think the previous Old Genoshan government got what it had coming.
> 
> But that still doesn't mean I trust Genosha.
> 
> The palace is a remnant from Old Genosha, a sprawling, still-crumbling building on the highest hill in Hammer Bay. It used to be the sole residence of the Prime Minister, but now it is a triple-functioning building that serves as the government headquarters (as the senate was obliterated in the uprising), an orphanage and training center for the youngest of the mutants who were captured (the youngest on record being five years old), and the home of Genosha's Imperator, Voice, and the Duchess of Mystique.
> 
> When I entered the building, I had expected to be led into the old great hall. Instead, I was brought to the south wing of the palace and escorted into what had previously been called the English Drawing Room but everyone seemed to call, quite simply, 'their office.' It seems unusual, but as the royal couple is best known for being unrepentantly strange, I wasn't very surprised. When the man escorting me opened one of the double doors and introduced me, I was readily invited in by a friendly voice.
> 
> At first glance, the royal couple look like a couple of old friends playing chess. There's no adornment on them that signals their positions, and they look completely human. Proof that one should not trust appearances if ever there was any.
> 
> The Voice of Genosha smiles, moving a rook forward one space on the board, and says, "King me."
> 
> "I _knew_ that was a pawn," says the Imperator, and with a flick of his finger the rook now has a bump on the top of its head, as if the castle shape has turned itself into a very ugly crown. The Voice looks supremely smug, but it doesn't last very long, considering one of the Imperator's knights moves forward a space. "Pre-check, by the way."
> 
> "Clever," the Voice says dryly.
> 
> The Imperator smiles. "I do try."
> 
> I clear my throat, and it pulls their eyes away from the board and each other. "What are you playing?" I ask, because they're obviously not playing actual chess.
> 
> "Horrible Chess," the Voice says cheerily. "Proper chess isn't nearly as fun as Horrible Chess. This version has surprises, like that the pieces aren't actually what they look like - for example, my rook was a pawn, which has now turned into a king, since we also like checkers and decided to put some of those rules into Horrible Chess as well."
> 
> For a moment, I wonder if they're aware that they've more or less called one of the most strategic games ever invented _unsurprising_ , and have invented an infinitely more complicated version seemingly on the fly to keep themselves interested in it.
> 
> "It's an acquired taste, though," the Imperator adds, giving his co-ruler an amused glance, and motions me to one of the nearby chairs. "Have a seat. Interview us."
> 
> I do as I'm told, because if there is one thing that is well known about the Imperator, it is that he's an remorseless Nazi hunter, going far enough to add it onto the end of his name like a title he's more proud of than his chosen title as one of the leaders of Genosha. "Thank you for inviting me," I say.
> 
> "Thank you for coming," the Voice says, and sighs. "Please, call me Charles. All this 'voice' and 'imperator', it's getting exhausting. Do I really look like some sort of dictator?"
> 
> I look at his outfit - slacks, plain collared shirt, and a cardigan - and have to admit that no, he doesn't.
> 
> "Charles, then," I say, and he smiles. It is only a moment after he turns back to the chess board that I realize he'd just read my mind.
> 
> "Please, calm down," Charles says. "You're thinking very loudly, I can't help but hear you." He frowns, glancing over at his co-ruler. "Could you...?" He waves a hand through the air, fingers wiggling slightly.
> 
> "So spoiled," Erik says, and turns to look at me. "I'm going to put an electromagnetic barrier around your head. You won't feel it, and he won't be able to hear your thoughts. You might have a slight headache in a couple hours, but that'll be all."
> 
> There's no direct request for permission, but it's implied enough that I nod. He stretches a hand towards me, and I don't feel a thing, but Charles lets out a breath and puts a hand on Erik's shoulder. "Thank you."
> 
> "Of course," Erik says, and looks back at me. "Aren't you meant to be asking us questions?"
> 
> "Yes," I say, snapping back into my role as reporter. There's something unsettling about them, but I try to calm myself down. "I was hoping to hear, in your own words, the stories behind some of the new Genoshan lingo, starting with your titles."
> 
> They are quiet for a moment, and then Charles speaks. "Mine's fairly simple, and came about from how we freed our people, of course," he says easily. "They heard my voice in their heads, and were referring to me as 'the voice' when they didn't know who I was or where to find us. After that, it just...stuck." He smiles. "And I wasn't looking to be a president or dictator or king or anything, so it worked out fairly well when they decided to put us in charge."
> 
> "Mine's _very_ simple. I'm Imperator because Charles said I couldn't be Emperor," Erik says.
> 
> "Erik," Charles chides.
> 
> "What? If I'm going to be in charge of a country, I want to be called Emperor, whether or not it's an actual empire," he says, and shrugs. "But Imperator sounds just as good and Charles couldn't find any objections, so that's what I am."
> 
> "And this is why I said we shouldn't do an interview yet," Charles says.
> 
> I nod, grateful that they have no concerns about the furious shorthanding I'm doing instead of paying as much attention to their body language as I should. "And your currency, the Charlemagne?"
> 
> "Ah," Charles says, the sound strangely ominous.
> 
> "Again, it's because Charles thought something sounded inappropriate," Erik says. "I thought we shouldn't bother with regulating an economy and just let them run amok, but Charles said _no_ , so it's Charles' money. Which he said sounded inappropriate, so Raven slurred it into Charlemagne."
> 
> "Raven being the Duchess of Mystique," I say, hoping to clarify.
> 
> "Raven Xavier, my dear sister," Charles says, and frowns. "Or is she using her original last name now?" When he notices my confusion, he adds, "She's adopted."
> 
> "And blue," Erik says.
> 
> I swallow, looking up from the tablet. "Really?"
> 
> "When she chooses to be, yes," Charles says. "She's also currently occupied, so I hope you'll forgive her absence."
> 
> It's obvious that her absence is a point of contention between them, although I've no idea why. "And what's the origin of her title?"
> 
> "She called herself Mystique when I met her," Erik says. "But she didn't want to be Raven Xavier, Mystique of Genosha, so we told her she could be personally in charge of whatever land she wanted, called it her duchy, and now she's the Duchess of Mystique."
> 
> "And our heir apparent," Charles adds.
> 
> I nod, considering my next question. "What are your feelings on the, ah, population ratio of Genosha?"
> 
> "You mean the fact we're a country mostly made of mutants," Erik states.
> 
> "Yes," I say. "A lot of people are concerned that your 'independent sanctuary' is an isolationist, segregationist attempt at mutant superiority."
> 
> Charles moves to put a hand around Erik's hand, saying, "At the moment, we're just trying to get these people back on their feet," he says. "You know the state they were in when we arrived. And I'm very sad to hear that a lot of people think of us that way, but here are the real facts: the original human inhabitants of this island kidnapped mutants, horribly abused them, and were generally cruel to what's left of the Genoshan population. Our people need time to recover before we can truly integrate."
> 
> "That, and there's been a human navy loitering around the island ever since we freed the camps," Erik states. "That puts a damper on mutual trust, and also cuts down on opportunities to _not_ be isolationist or segregationist. So really, it's more of a question of when we'll be able to meet our neighbors and invite new people in without threat of a nuclear attack."
> 
> "I was under the impression your country could take care of itself," I comment.
> 
> "And more," Erik says, and smiles at me. It's one of the most terrifying things I've ever seen. "It _is_ a good feeling to know the people playing volleyball on our beaches could take out the four-country fleet on our doorstep, but I don't take threats very well."
> 
> I nod, clearing my throat and turning to Charles. "And I assume this is why you're planning to visit the United Nations next week."
> 
> "One of the reasons, yes," Charles says. His smile, I note, is tighter than usual. "I look forward to a peaceful and mutually beneficial meeting of minds."
> 
> "For the record, I find your diplomatic streak terrifying," Erik tells him.
> 
> "Of course you do, dear," Charles says, and pats him on the hand. "You should pay more attention to the news. We’re very scary people."

 


	2. The Stuff National Anthems Are Made Of

"Please don't leave me," Erik begs, fully aware he's sopping wet. Ororo's tiny storm cloud stopped its torrential downpour, thankfully, but it keeps rumbling ominously, and he is _not_ ready to deal with lightning strikes, not without Charles around.

"It's _three days_ ," Charles says, completely unbothered by Ororo's tiny wibbling bottom lip or Erik's desperation. "Nothing's going to explode in three days. And plenty of people survive being a single parent."

"Of ten super-powered children? _And_ a country of traumatized ill-tempered mutants?" Erik asks.

Charles sighs, shutting the suitcase. "You'll have Raven with you," he points out.

" _Eleven_ super-powered children, then," Erik says, because she's capable and strong and amazing, but the minute she's near the others she becomes an irresponsible fifteen-year-old bouncing on couches and giving Charles overprotective heart attacks. "And you should know better than to underestimate what can happen in three days. We caused a revolution, took over a country, and outed the existence of mutants to the entire world in under that."

"Ah, but we did that _together_ ," Charles says, smiling at him in that fond, completely insane way of his. "I don't think I could manage half that in twice the time on my own."

"What a nice thought," Erik says dryly, and tries to shift Ororo into a more comfortable hold, and how is this his life? "Couldn't you at least take half of the children with you?"

"I'm not taking underage mutants to the United Nations," Charles says, and frowns. "It'll be _fine_ , Erik. They practically take care of themselves, all you have to do is stop them from killing themselves or others."

"Joy," Erik says, and Ororo just keeps clinging to him. She's tiny for a five-year-old, and has a bad habit of clinging to him. "Just promise me you'll stick to the schedule."

"I promise," Charles says, lips twitching, _amusement/fondness_ leaking through. "And I won't let the bad humans hurt me, and if they do I'll be sure to call you. I'll brush my teeth before bed every night, too."

"This is serious, Charles," Erik says.

"I'd probably treat it as such if you didn't look like a long drowned cat with a koala attached to it," Charles says, but there's nothing but fondness in it. Erik can sympathize. It's hard to not find Ororo adorable, even when there's a potentially life-threatening storm cloud hovering over you. "Really, trust me. Everything will be fine. I'm sure they'll see reason, and then we can finally get things moving beyond infrastructure."

"Your optimism is boundless, isn't it," Erik says. "Do you really think you're going to just waltz in, scold them for five minutes, and then watch as they hurry to get rid of their near-blockade?"

Charles grins at him. "Of course not. It'd be at least ten minutes of scolding," he says, and gives Erik a short, happy kiss, followed by a quick press of lips to Ororo's perfectly dry forehead. "I'll be back."

"Three days," Ororo says very deliberately.

"And if you're not back by then, I reserve the right to do things my way," Erik says.

Charles sighs. "Fine. But please try to not do anything terribly reckless."

Something very big and undoubtedly incredibly expensive shatters in the hallway.

Erik sighs. "Enjoy New York," he states, and turns to deal with the most recent property damage.

\---

One year ago, if someone had told Erik Lehnsherr that he would be in charge of a country made almost entirely of mutants, he'd have been thrilled. If someone had told Erik that he'd actually be _co-ruler_ , but the other ruler was his very attractive telepathic male fiancé, he would have been...dubious, but pleased. If someone had told him he'd be practically married and taking care of twelve mutant children, and then also an entire island full of mutants who _act_ like children even when they're in their seventies, Erik would have thrown them out of a window.

As it is, Erik is still tempted to throw someone out of a window. Particularly since the window is now a gaping hole in the wall of an already structurally unsound building.

"Who thought blowing _another_ hole in the wall would be a good idea?" Erik shouts.

"Alex told me to do it!" Scott shouts, pointing straight at his brother because he is _terrified_ of Erik and knows there's no Charles to save him now. "He said I needed to work on precision!"

"Scott. You have no precision capability," Erik states, and tries to extract himself from Ororo's grip. Her trailing thundercloud (which she's slowly taken to calling Puppy, thanks to the Xaviers' endless comparisons) rumbles a bit, but she eventually lets go, so long as she gets to keep holding his hand. "And now you have no dessert. Go run five miles, Summers." When he notices Alex looking particularly smug, he raises an eyebrow. "That's _both_ Summers boys. Scott, stop listening to your brother. He's a bad person."

"You're a horrible parent," Sean says.

"I'm in charge of a country, my parenting skills are irrelevant," Erik says. "And you can join them."

"Lehnsherr!" someone shouts, and it doesn't take long for him to recognize Emma Frost's voice, icy and amazingly welcome. A glare sends the problem children away, and he takes a deep breath, since Emma brings him the actual country-ruling issues. Usually. Either that, or something heavy and metallic they need lifted.

"What's the problem now?" Erik asks when Emma finally walks around the corner, but loses any thought of what else he was going to say when he sees the stunned look on her face. "Frost, what's wrong?"

"You have children," Emma says.

He sighs, because thank god, he thought it was something _new_. "If it's Nathaniel, just tell him to stop being creepy."

"No, I mean that _you have children_ ," Emma says, slow and emphatic. "Biological children. Twins. With your blood."

Erik stares at her. "What."

"Congratulations," Emma says. "You get to be a father some more."

After hearing it, Erik would really prefer to have more heavy things to lift.

\---

The sky never seems as far away as it does in New York City, really. All those buildings seem to hold it up so high that it's impossible to reach - or one would need a _very_ impressive elevator to reach it. It's why Charles never really enjoyed New York. The state, certainly, but the city? It's a fascinating place, but he likes to consider himself a quiet soul, and if there's one thing New York never is, it's _quiet_.

Take now, for example. One little teleporting demonic-looking mutant, and everyone goes screaming. Well, half of them go screaming. The other half just keep on walking and give them nasty looks.

"I am used to it," Azazel says when he notices the looks Charles is giving the bystanders, and drops his hand from Charles' shoulder. "I will stay for you."

"Thank you," Charles says, surprised. "You don't have to, of course. I know you're busy."

"I prefer to not get killed by your husband," Azazel says dryly, and starts his way towards the UN General Assembly building.

Charles doesn't mind trailing along after the mutant. It gives him a chance to say, "About your tail. How large of objects can you hold with it? And how do you think the tip affects your ability to use it?"

Azazel glances back at him for a moment, and then reaches back to grab him by the coat sleeve. "My tail is my tail," he states. "I think you have other things to concentrate on, Voice of Genosha."

"But it's so _interesting_ ," Charles says. "I've never met anyone with a tail who is capable of telling me about what it's like to have a prehensile tail. Well, until now. Do you-"

"I have nothing to say about my tail, Xavier," Azazel says, which doesn't stop Charles from noticing the way it twitches. Whether it's twitching from amusement or irritation Charles doesn't know, and doesn't feel like reading Azazel's mind to find out. "Now, what is the plan?"

"I'm scheduled to speak in front of the General Assembly, and then answer questions," Charles says, and shrugs. "It's an enormous international Q & A session, really. That's about all there is for a plan. Shouldn't be that difficult, don't you think?"

Azazel sighs. "I will _definitely_ be staying with you," he says somberly.

"And he's my fiancé, not husband," Charles adds belatedly.

"You are married and the world knows it," Azazel says, and politely holds the door open for him. "And what are you to tell the people?"

"Mostly that they don't need to keep an international navy circling around us constantly," Charles says dryly. "I'm sure we've been good for cold war politics, but really, we're a country of traumatized abductees at the moment, we're as threatening as a rain-soaked puppy."

"Perhaps if the puppy shot lasers out of eyes," Azazel says.

"Why does everyone pick Scott to harp on?" Charles asks.

Azazel looks at him. "He shoots _lasers_ out of his _eyes_."

Charles looks right back, expectant. "And?"

He shakes his head. "You are a good person," Azazel says, and for some reason Charles thinks it might actually be an insult. "But remember, there is no law written for fools. Where you see a puppy, they will see a stray laser dog."

"They're not really lasers, though, it's more of a plasma burst," Charles adds, and Azazel scowls at him. "But I really do appreciate the input, and I'll try to keep that in mind. Thank you."

"You are welcome," Azazel says.

It doesn't take long for a man in a dark blue suit to find them, looking awkward at Charles and terrified at Azazel as he says, "Pardon me, sir, but you're Voice Xavier?"

"My title sounds terrible that way," Charles says, but takes pity on the man after he starts to visibly sweat. "Yes, I am. What can I do for you?"

"There's a phone call for you, from Genosha," the man says.

" _Really?_ " Charles asks, because honestly, they've been gone for an hour, maybe three at the most. Then again, time zones-

"Imperator Lehnsherr is on the phone," the man says, and really, it's unfair how much better Erik's title sounds like that. "He called the front desk."

"Of course he did," Charles says, and sighs, following the man as he hurries them towards the front desk (and a clearly terrified receptionist, who actually squeaks when she catches sight of Azazel). They hand the receiver over the minute he's behind the desk, and Charles sits himself down in the security guard's chair as he says, "Hello, dear. How's the southeast hemisphere today?"

"We need to talk," Erik says, and that. That isn't good. At all. It's the tone of voice Erik used to have when it came to relationship issues, the one where he's trying very hard to not be scared.

"Do I need to come home?" Charles asks immediately, because he does _not_ like hearing that from Erik. At all.

"What? No, I'm fine, we're all fine, I've just received some. Some news, is all," Erik says. "And I thought you should know."

Charles tries very hard to smile, because even if Erik can't see it he could likely hear it, and this sounds like something he'll have to grit his teeth into a smile for. "What news?"

"I have children," Erik says, all in a rush.

Charles frowns at the wall. "Didn't we have this emotional panic episode a few months ago?"

"No, Charles, not _our_ children, _my_ children," Erik says. "It seems I have some. And they're in the newest group of arrivals. They are twins and seven and I've heard that they're adorable and very powerful."

"Oh," Charles says. He opens his mouth to say something, but ends up closing it again when he realizes he has no idea what to tell Erik. He clears his throat, and settles for, "At least the boys didn't blow anything up."

"Oh, they did," Erik says.

"That'll be lovely to come home to," Charles says, and takes a deep breath. "The mother?"

Erik sighs into the phone, and Charles can picture the slump of his shoulders, the way he sinks into furniture with a hand over his eyes, as if he can stop seeing memories that way. "Magda Maximoff. She's been dead for...a long time, Charles." He sighs. "I didn't know there were children."

"I know you didn't," Charles says quietly. "And I look forward to meeting them when I come home."

"I'm not good at this, Charles," Erik says. "I'm not a good parent, even when they're not-"

"You're _fine_ , Erik," Charles says. "You may have noticed our ragtag gaggle of children aren't exactly average. You're doing amazingly well, all things considered. And the twins will be no different." He puts a smile on again, and tries very hard to ignore how much he misses being inside Erik's mind, how very _wrong_ it feels to be without him. "Only three days. Less than that, now."

"I'll see you then," Erik says.

"And you should be aware that if you call the front desk again for something like this I'll be a bit upset with you," Charles says lightly. "I can understand that you're distraught at the moment, but there's a perfectly good Visiting Speaker line that they could have easily transferred you to and wouldn't have me sitting here talking about sensitive issues with my near-monarch fiancé in the visitor's center lobby."

"They're all too scared of us to eavesdrop," Erik says dismissively, and Charles can tell it was the right thing to say. He sounds a lot more like himself, thank god. "Three days, then."

The rumbling clack of Erik hanging up is so _him_ that Charles ends up actually smiling. It's probably the smitten smile of the hopelessly in love, but that suits him fine. Besides, Erik does have a point - most of the people in the building are far too scared of him and Azazel to really try anything.

They have more than one teleporter on Genosha, but they chose Azazel for two reasons. The first being that's he's most likely to be voted Minister of Transportation (slightly tongue-in-cheek, yes, but true, considering the man's helped save thousands of lives with trips to protect endangered mutants around the world), and that it's very, very difficult - impossible, really - to no notice he's a mutant. Charles' mutation is an invisible one, where he can't do anything flashy without potentially causing severe brain damage (unlikely, but not something to chance at the UN). Azazel walks in a room, and the room _knows_ who, and what, they're looking at.

Charles thinks it's rather obvious which was Charles' reason, and which was Erik's.

"Should we not prepare for your speech?" Azazel says, and Charles nods, moving away from the front desk and trying to decide whether he should be grateful or offended by the way people move out of their way.

"There's not much to prepare," Charles admits. His speech is mostly a synopsis of why Genosha's called an 'Independent Sanctuary' and why they really don't need to bother wasting tax money on a navy blockade of their mostly harmless little island. "Why? Is my hair terrible?"

"It looks like usual," Azazel says, and Charles ignores the way that his answer means nothing. Or many things. The man's devilish in far more ways than appearance, after all.

But it seems he _does_ have things to prepare, since when he steps into what they're calling a guest room and Charles is thinking of as a visiting professor office, there's three men in suits waiting for them. Charles skims their minds briefly - just to make sure they're not going to shoot them, and to make sure they speak English - and smiles at them, casually shrugging off the hand Azazel has placed on his shoulder. "Hello, gentlemen. How can I help you?"

"We'd like to speak to you about your...ability," Jacob Harrison, head of security, says. He holds out his hand, saying, "I'm Jacob Harrison, head of security here. The men behind me are Peter Davenport and Harry Wick."

"Professor Charles Xavier," Charles says as he shakes Harrison's hand, because he likes the way it makes them twitch, having to think of him as a geneticist who has taught college courses instead of as the scary co-leader of a superpowered country. It's a guilty pleasure, yes, but a pleasure nonetheless. "What exactly would you like to know about my mutation, Mr. Harrison?"

"We'd like some sort of guarantee that you'll not be reading any of the delegates' minds," Harrison says, and it's. Well. Rather blunt.

Charles laughs. "Goodness, you really think I'm that powerful? Reading thoughts when you're not in physical contact with someone is very difficult for most of us, I'm not going to exert myself while giving a speech."

Davenport and Wick look relieved, but Harrison only nods. "I've heard the story of why you're Voice of Genosha, Professor."

"Projecting and reading thoughts are _extremely_ different, Mr. Harrison," Charles says. "That's my true talent. Reading thoughts is, for me, usually touch-based." He smiles. "Really, is speaking without opening my mouth all that threatening?"

"It's unsettling, but not threatening," Harrison says, and doesn't notice in the least that Charles is making sure he remembers that. "Would you be willing to wear gloves?"

Charles frowns. "I'm sorry?"

"If someone should choose to shake your hand, it would be best if you couldn't read their thoughts," Harrison says.

"I think they should stop wasting our time," Azazel says, tail twitching.

"And I like to think that if someone chooses to shake my hand, they'll trust me to not invade their thoughts in a completely immoral and reprehensive act," Charles says, firm, trying very hard to not glare at the man. He's just doing his job, and really, Charles had expected ignorance and fear from these people. It's why Charles is here instead of Erik - Charles will glare and project his _disappointment/displeasure_ at people, instead of wrap them in metal and kick them in the ribs.

Harrison actually bows after that, and says, "I'll inform the delegates of that. Thank you for your time, Professor."

"Thank you for your hard work," Charles states, and knows he should be smiling. Instead he watches the security detail trail out of the room and close the door behind them.

Azazel snorts. "You lie very well, Xavier," he says.

"I didn't lie at all," Charles says. "Most telepaths do have touch-based mind-reading abilities. And it's not my fault if they haven't thought of more creative uses of telepathy to ask me about." He sighs. "But a little misdirection is expected in politics, I think."

"Just keep it to politics," Azazel says, and there's more truth in that sentiment than Charles would really like to admit. He grins, though, the mischief crinkling the scar around his eye. "Would you like to make an entrance?"

Charles laughs. "Goodness, I don't know, they're already-"

"That means yes," Azazel says, and puts a hand on Charles' shoulder, and-

-there's screaming, everywhere, and this is why mischievous teleporters are a _horrible_ thing to bring to the UN, it really is. Charles sighs, watching the assembly erupt into chaos as the smoke dissipates from them and Azazel.

Well.

Azazel's laughing so hard he's hunched over.

"You are not coming to anything political ever again," Charles tells him, and tries to be firm, he really does, but laughter is particularly infectious when you're a telepath, for god's sake. Then again, so is the hysteria, and really, these are a bad, bad combination, because now Charles is holding on to the podium and, well, laughing…well, hysterically.

"I'm so sorry about that," Charles wheezes into the microphone, trying to hold a placating hand up. It takes him much longer than he likes to get himself back in order, moments he takes to apologize to everyone he can think of _except_ for Azazel, who has teleported himself away to the back of the room.

"Pranks aren't welcome here," the president says, but there's a bit of humor there. "Neither are you, for another six minutes, but we can move up the schedule since you seem to need the podium to keep standing."

"I really am sorry," Charles says, chagrined. "Thank you for not kicking me out."

"All nations have a voice here, even the immature ones," the president says, scratching at something on his desk, and Charles decides he likes this man. "You've already been introduced, so whenever you're ready."

"Thank you," Charles says, and takes a deep breath.

\---

Wanda and Pietro Maximoff are seven years old and adorable, just like the report said.

What the report didn't mention was that Wanda looks so much like her mother, or that Pietro looks so much like Erik's father, with Magda's eyes. Wanda does have the Lehnsherr chin, though, and also seems to have the genetic predisposition for stubbornness.

Pietro takes one look at Erik with big green eyes and says, "Wow, you're _tall_!"

And Wanda just stares.

And as Erik stares back, he thinks he really, _really_ should've asked Charles to come home. He's the one who gives the 'welcome to your new home' speech, the one who helps the children get settled in and tries to convince them the scary men with the collars aren't coming back. Thank god they weren't on Genosha before the collars came off.

And these are _his_ children, he's biologically linked to them and responsible for their tiny, tiny lives. He feels like there's something _missing_ , that he's supposed to look into their eyes and feel something more than nerves and responsibility and an endless regret that they've been alone for so long.

Pietro's comment sticks in his head, though, and he sits down on the floor in front of them. He takes a deep breath, and says, "Do you know who I am?"

"You're the Imperator! And you're the strongest mutant ever and you're one of the saviors of Genosha and you and the Voice take in the children so we won't be some big word I can't remember, it's nice to meet you," Pietro says, and Erik can't help but wonder how he's not even out of breath, and wonders if it might be an early-onset mutation, because he _continues_ , saying, "I heard you knew our mom but she didn't say anything more than that, it was the pretty white lady who said it, she wears a lot of white, is she getting married?"

"She was wearing pants, stupid," Wanda says, sullen. "You don't get married in pants."

"You do if you're a boy," Pietro counters, smug. "Who's the stupid one _now_?"

"I'm not stupid, you're stupid!" Wanda shouts.

"Her name is Emma Frost, and she isn't getting married as far as I know," Erik says. "She wears white because she likes it. And I need you to pay attention, please."

"I can do that," Pietro says, eager. He's so obviously an endless ball of energy that even _looking_ at him is tiring. Pietro's idea of paying attention seems to be vibrating in place, staring at Erik.

Erik thinks for a moment about how to address their relationship, and then he remembers they're seven years old and Pietro will probably explode if Erik keeps him still for much longer, so he says, "I'm your father."

"Like you're going to take care of us?" Pietro asks. "We've had those before, I hope you're good at it."

"No, I'm actually your father," he says.

"Really?" Wanda asks, and Erik can tell he'll be dealing with a tiny skeptic for quite a while.

"Really," Erik says. He wants to add something about how if he'd known they were out there he'd have raised hell to get to them, or say something about how lovely their mother was and that he'd thought she was dead, but can't think of how to say it. "I'm going to take care of you now. I promise."

"Wow. Am I a prince now?" Pietro asks.

Erik frowns. "Do you want to be?"

"Of course I do! I get to fight dragons and be charming!" Pietro says.

"You can do that without being a prince," Erik says.

"Where have you been?" Wanda asks, hands clenched.

Erik sighs. "I've been trying to help our people for a very long time," he says, because it's as good as he can do. "I didn't know you two were out there until about four hours ago, and now I'm here."

"That's pretty fast," Pietro says.

"Why didn't you know before that?" Wanda asks.

Erik frowns. "I've been busy," he says, and suddenly Wanda's going into breakdown mode - he can recognize it from the times Ororo's Puppy starts raining on him. "Wanda-"

"I don't want to talk to you!" Wanda shouts, and runs out of the room. Pietro doesn't take too long to follow his sister, giving Erik a nonthreatening glare that looks more like scrunching his nose up than anything as he heads out the door, shouting his sister's name.

Erik sighs. "That went about as well as I'd expected," he mutters, and Raven trots in not long after, looking concerned. "What? Did they break something?"

"Why is that always your first question?" Raven asks, and then shakes her head. "No, we had Charles' speech on the radio. It was." She sighs, skin flickering for a moment. "It was very Charles, but they’ve stopped coverage. And we should be expecting company."

"Refugees?" Erik asks, and when he notices the grim tilt to her mouth, he grimaces. " _Human_ refugees?"

"Worse," Raven says. "Ambassadors."

\---

> Genosha is not a dictatorship, or an empire, or even a republic. It is a sanctuary, made by and for those who need salvation. We're focused solely on recovery, of both the island and the people tortured and enslaved there. Our island is wounded, but building itself back up, becoming something far stronger and brighter than it was before. Our people are hurt and scared, but slowly starting to heal and hope. All we want is peace, dignity, and the right to exercise free will when it comes to our people's futures.
> 
> Many of the powered individuals that Old Genosha ripped from their homes want to return. Some of them are even ready to do so, as soon as the navy blockade is lifted and it's safe for them to go back to their families and friends. Some are native Genoshans who have been quietly, violently oppressed since birth, and whose families had to flee the country. We would like to welcome them home - which, again, we cannot do until the navy blockade is lifted.
> 
> I understand that there's a level of mutual uncertainty and fear in our hearts and minds. This is natural, when it comes to a new idea that one can't fully understand. The powered individuals that inevitable human genetic mutation has brought to the world is a very difficult concept to understand, and easy to fear. But the core of powered individuals, no matter what they can do or look like, is that they are human. They're your fellow man, prone to the same fears and the everyday bravery it takes to face them.
> 
> Genosha's requests are simple - end the blockade around a nation that has rightfully overthrown cruel oppressors who were guilty of well-documented crimes against humanity, and recognize that every powered individual has the same rights and privileges as their non-powered brethren.
> 
> Excerpt from the First Genoshan Address to the United Nations,  
>  Charles F. Xavier, Voice of Genosha,  
>  April 19, 1963.

\---

Charles almost feels like he's managed to get through to them, considering the talk of sending ambassadors and the UK delegate already saying he's sure they'll pull out of the blockade initiative, 'all things considered'. Nobody but the president of the assembly seems willing to shake his hand, but that's expected. The security council is determined to send ambassadors as soon as possible, with the US and Soviet Union already having assembled theirs (which is...not all that surprising to Charles), and it leaves Charles standing at the podium, waiting for all the motions and resolutions to be proposed and for the delegates to vote on whether to vote on things and really, this is why he and Erik play Horrible Chess, it's a much more enjoyable way to make difficult decisions. That, or make Raven decide.

And when it _is_ done and Charles is leaning on the podium watching the room of politicians talk amongst themselves while thinking about how, statistically, one of them _must_ be a mutant, the first question he gets is, "What does the Imperator think of this?"

"Of what, precisely?" Charles asks, because _really_ , how vague can a question be?

"The statements you have put before the assembly, has your... _lover_ agreed with them?"

"My fiancé, actually, or co-ruler if you’d prefer to not think about me marrying a man and you not being able to object, and for the most part he does," Charles says honestly. "You have to remember that he has a different perspective than I do when it comes to oppression. We both believe that the first order of business in a situation like Genosha's is recovery, since we're able to help with that, but Erik is." He pauses. "Well, he hunts down Nazis in his spare time. That should tell you something about his political beliefs."

"And you do not believe that he will hunt down humans after this?" A different delegate says. All Charles can tell is that the country's name starts with an R, which doesn't tell him much.

"I think he'll continue hunting down Nazis," Charles offers. "But I think he'll leave the Genoshans to their specific victims." He sighs. "Is there anything else you'd like to know about Erik? Eye color, maybe? Shoe size?"

That earns a rumble from the assembly, and the president actually leans down and motions Charles over. "I know they are irritating, but try not to start a war by patronizing them," the president says.

"I'm here to get a blockade lifted, not humor their homophobia," he protests.

"I think they are afraid of your Nazi-hunting co-ruler more than homosexuality," the president says, coolly, but then motions Charles back to the podium. He does, however, address the assembly, saying, "Please keep your questions in the same vein of discussion and diplomacy for which this body was founded."

The muttering that causes reminds Charles of the times he scolded his classes for not doing the reading. "Really, the issue here is that Genosha has been forced into an isolationist nation, as if we've been quarantined or segregated from the rest of the world," Charles says. "So here is the crux of the matter: while we're _fully_ capable of getting around your little ships, it's rather irritating and makes our traumatized mutant population twitchy. And really, we can all get along just fine, so there's no point to the Genoshan blockade no matter how you look at it."

" _Please_ don't start a war," the president says.

"Are you claiming military supremacy?" a delegate demands.

Charles frowns at the man "What? No, of course not, we don't even _have_ a military, where did you come up with that? Genosha is practically a hospital at this point, I just meant that." He sighs. "You don't need to blockade us, is all."

"A hospital run by a Nazi-hunting murderer," yet another delegate says.

"And a genetics professor, and a waitress," Charles adds. "Really, he's so much more than that. Are you going to claim that there's someone more qualified to help the Genoshan citizens than a man who survived the holocaust?"

That, thankfully, shuts them up. He feels a bit guilty for bringing it up, but Erik's never been ashamed of himself.

"I would like to ask a question regarding many statements you've made," another delegate says, and Charles turns to look the woman in the eye. "Throughout your speech, you referred to mutants as if you are not one of them. Why?"

"A habit from my days as a professor, I'm afraid," Charles says, and really, he hadn't even noticed he was doing it. "I find that teaching from personal experience gets messy, and taking a step back helps one think about events much more objectively."

"What is your objective opinion of The Genoshan Party?" another delegate asks, and this is getting ridiculous, how many of these men are there? He'll need glasses at this rate.

"And by that I assume you mean the anniversary-slash-engagement party," Charles says, and when he receives a nod, Charles continues, saying, "Also known as the beach party that most of the guests came to horribly overdressed where we were all there to have fun and not talk politics and that's exactly what happened." He pauses. "My objective opinion is that the party set the tone for Genosha as a rather harmless place, since we really did do nothing but drink on the beach." Well, Charles and Erik didn't, at least; they drank slowly worsening wine and talked to famous people and made out on the beach like giggling teenagers. And got engaged after a drunken conversation with someone who had very fluffy hair who was telling Charles about how Marilyn Monroe was Jewish, which seemed _so_ important at the time. "It was a rather confusing night."

"So I've heard," the delegate says testily.

Charles grins. "I'm sorry you missed out on it; I'll be sure to invite you next time, if it makes you feel better."

The room laughs. Well, most of the room laughs. The rest of the room hisses in the ever-scandalized tones of those who have had their sense of humor run off somewhere down the road.

"How many languages _do_ you speak, Voice Xavier?" yet another delegate asks, sounding genuinely curious.

Charles frowns. "English and Latin. Why?"

That's when the muttering starts.

And that's when Charles realizes he's been listening to everything out of the delegates' minds, listening to the meaning they've projected with their words instead of listening to the language they're speaking and waiting for someone to translate into English. He's gotten so used to doing it on Genosha, with all its transplanted populations from a hundred countries that speak a thousand different languages, that it hadn't even occurred to him.

Azazel probably doesn't help anything by puffing into existence by his shoulder. "I took the ambassadors to Genosha," he says, ignoring their enormous audience. "Are you done yet?"

Charles looks at the anger on the previously amused and slowly moving to friendly faces that stare towards them, feels the fear and apprehension and _what else is he doing to us right now he lied to the security people we aren't safe_ that swarms around the room.

Most of Charles thinks it'd be a good idea to hold onto Azazel's elbow and go home, meet his stepchildren, and wait for this to blow over before trying again. They can survive the blockade easily. But at the same time, if he runs now, if he leaves _now_ , when they're just starting to make their opinions about mutants.

"No," Charles says, and looks up to see the previously friendly president watching him with wary eyes. Charles meets his gaze evenly as he says, "I'm afraid I've only just begun."

\---

Erik is hunting down his children when the ambassadors arrive in big acrid puffs of smoke. There's only four of them, and just looking at them makes Erik cringe - they have Cold War Politics written all over them. Two Russians, two Americans, all four of them glaring at each other.

"I have shit to do, so here are the ground rules," Erik says from the doorway, and it makes them jump. "Genosha has five laws: don't kill, don't rape, don't steal, don't oppress, and pay your taxes. Failure to uphold them _will_ get you tossed back to your respected navies, understood?"

"On behalf of the Soviet Union-" one of them begins.

"I really don't care what you have to say, just stay out of the way and don't do anything stupid," Erik says, and walks out. It's probably a lot to ask of politicians, but-

"Wait!" one of them shouts. Erik doesn't bother turning around to see who it is, just keeps on walking and trying to find where Wanda and Pietro ran off to. The man - kid, really, Erik notices when he manages to catch up - is persistent. "Wait, Mr. Imperator, my name is Hank McCoy, I was. Well. I was hoping to talk to you about the scientific side of mutation."

"You want Charles for that," Erik says, and tries to ignore the flood of relief he feels when he hears small, young voices on the other side of a door. It draws him up short when he realizes it's not just two voices, it's _three_.

Ororo, it seems, is talking in full sentences. They're the fractured sentences of the young, but it's still more than Erik has heard from her since they found the girl in the most well-protected storage container in The Pit, along with Nathaniel, Jean, and Kitty, and guarded by a man named Logan. He was the only one who could still fight, because while they could take away his ability to heal, they couldn't take away his ability to be in excruciating pain but still fighting with razor-sharp adamantium claws.

If Genosha awarded medals, Erik would have given the man one in a heartbeat. Instead, Logan had been on the first mutant-laden ship off the island.

"It's just, I have a, um. Personal interest, Mr. Imperator," the kid says, shifting from foot to foot. "It's the reason I volunteered so fast. See, I-"

Erik turns to look at the awkward young man, in his glasses and ill-fitting suit, and says, "In case you missed the fact I'm busy and you don't rank that high on my priorities right now, let me tell you this. There are plenty of mutants here for you to pester." He sees brief flashes of yellow and brown and red out of the corner of his eye, and smirks, grabbing onto the young man's shoulder before pointing to a suspiciously quiet corridor. "Like _them_."

The pained groans and shouts of objection the boys give him are like music to his ears, they really are.

"Oh, I don't want to bother anybody," the kid says.

Erik looks at him, long and hard. "Then why are you still talking to me right now?"

He turns red at a speed to rival stoplights, stammering out, "Right, I'll. I'll go talk to. Them."

"Alex," Erik shouts, and with a sigh the blond sulks his way out from the shadows. "Show the kid around the public areas."

"We wanted to meet your twins," Scott says, head popping out from behind a corner.

"Tough," Erik says, and pushes the not-quite-ambassador towards the children. "Enjoy your tour, kid."

"Doctor Hank McCoy, actually," the kid says, looking from Erik to Alex and then back.

"It's nice to meet you, Hank," Erik says, attention still focused on the children inside. "Now leave me alone."

Alex drags Hank away, and Erik steels himself, letting the voices of the older children fade to little more than distant whispers before he lets his hand rest on the door handle. It's ridiculous, that he can face down an entire multinational navy every single day without flinching but is intimidated by the thought of the children on the other side of the door. Preposterous. Charles would laugh himself silly. Charles would also be _far_ better qualified for this, maybe Erik should wait until he comes home.

 _Stop being a fool. After all, they're just children_ , Erik thinks to himself, and opens the door.

\---

"You understand, I'm sure," the president says.

It's only the fact that Charles can read the man's honest disappointment (and far less fear than the rest) that keeps him from snapping. "I do understand," he says. "But I think you can also understand why I'm not exactly thrilled that you want to keep me holed up in a little room while you talk behind my back."

"The situation is unorthodox, you must admit," he says. "And I understand your frustration but please, indulge us. I ask you to do this as a show of good faith."

"And you also understand that I think it's disgusting that I'm the one who needs to show good faith when I've done nothing wrong," Charles says. "I haven't lied to anyone, I haven't threatened anyone, and I haven't read anyone's minds beyond the naturally projected thought that comes with deliberate speech."

The president nods, and Charles is honestly surprised that he's _actually listening_ , thoughts bubbling with sincerity. Almost everyone else is focused on fighting or reveling in their fear/anger. "You yourself said that new ideas are frightening and take adjusting. Allow us to take that time."

He can see Azazel's tail swishing dangerously through the air, can hear the projected _we should leave xavier_ , but Charles ignores him. He nods, and says, "I hope you use it wisely."

The head of security and his underlings are waiting for him at the door, eyeing Azazel with such obvious fear that Charles doesn't even have to skim their minds to see what they're thinking. They don't bother with pleasantries this time, simply escort him from the room and into the wings of the building. Charles doesn't know the floor plan, but he does know they're moving far from the conference hall, and they always go down stairs, never up.

The room they stuff him into looks like it used to be a storage closet, hurriedly cleared out and given enough good furniture to not be disrespectful. The heavy metal door isn't lost on him, either - not that heavy metal doors matter when you're Charles, considering he can just tell them to open it, and if that fails he can ask Erik to do so. Still, it's just _rude_ , and it makes something sour squirm through his stomach. "You'll fetch me as soon as they're done conferring amongst themselves, of course," Charles says, because it's not a question.

"Of course. The moment they ask for you," the security guard says, and there's not much else Charles can do but nod, and sit back in the dim little room. He situates himself on the couch, watching them warily step out of the room.

Azazel hasn't stopped frowning at Charles since...well. For a while now. "We should leave," he says.

"I'm here to help my country. Leaving won't do that," Charles says, because this is how they want it. If he has to deal with fools, so be it. Being stuffed in a broom cupboard and being told to stay put while mommy and daddy talk is most certainly not his preferred negotiation strategy, but it is at least familiar.

Azazel sighs, and slips into the armchair to Charles' right. "And you will not have me tell your husband."

"I'd prefer to not start a war, thank you," Charles says, and sighs. "Besides, he could do without the added stress, don't you think? We'll give him some pleasant time with the children, and he can find out about this when it's all blown over."

The other man is thinking about optimism being near-suicidal very, very clearly.

Charles decides to innocently project puppies and butterflies at him in retaliation.

\---

Erik is going to open the door, he _is_ , until Emma's voice is in his head, loud and irritated, saying, _Stop whatever you're doing and get over here. One of the ambassadors is dead._

He's an old hand at this by now, frowning and stepping away from the door as he follows the gentle tug every telepath seems to leave when they're in someone's head. _Which one?_ Because if the kids somehow killed the child doctor ambassador, they are going to have words.

 _One of the Russians_ , Emma projects back. _Raven's doing her best to keep the other American and Russian from finding out, but it's not pretty. And it's a bit suspicious, wouldn't you agree?_

 _That he died within an hour of his arrival?_ Erik projects. _Why Emma, you make it sound like there's a conspiracy here._

 _It's cold war politics in my favorite drawing room,_ Emma replies, and the irritation intensifies at the image she sends with it - her personal pristine white-and-beige parlor, with a big ugly red stain and a big ugly dead man in it. _Get rid of it, Erik._

He considers telling her that there's really an awful lot of other things he has to do, like dealing with having biological children and also having non-biological children that like to blow things up and also having an entire country to run, but he can tell Emma will just play irritating music in his head if he doesn't show up in the near future. Erik still has nightmares about when Emma had decided to get ragtime stuck in his head for two days (and it had only stopped because Charles finally stopped finding it funny and _did something about it_ ).

Emma's parlor is fairly close to the one he and Charles use as a study-slash-audience room, directly next to Raven's study-slash-whatever she wants, and he can hear Emma's anger five hallways away, streaming through the air. "Who ever told him he could die in here? And who ever told Azazel that _my_ room was the one for teleportation?"

"We all did, Emma," Erik says, looking down at the very dead man on the floor. "I'll buy you a new carpet. When did he die?"

"I don't want a new carpet, I want this one to have never had a dead man on it," Emma says. "And recently, since the ambassadors have been in Genosha for a little over an hour." She glares at him, arms crossed over her chest scathingly. "You're the expert on dead bodies, Imperator. I'm leaving this to you."

"Fine," Erik says. "Check on the other ambassadors while you're at it, though - they're my primary suspects."

"And if we had a police force, this wouldn't be your problem," Raven says from the doorway.

"We're getting there," Erik replies, looking down at the very dead man.

"You should get there faster," Emma states. "And you also might want to inform your boyfriend that one of his olive branches bled to death all over my carpet."

"Your metaphors need work," Erik says absently.

"Your _face_ needs work," Emma says, and stalks out, Raven slipping in as she leaves.

She sighs. "Do you want me to call him?"

"I can do it," Erik mutters, looking at the body. It's strange, because he can't see any reason for him to have bled to death so fast and violently. He knows how long it takes for someone to die like this, and it usually helps to have sliced someone _somewhere_. "And I know neither of you like giving the other bad news."

"You don't have to be mediator," Raven says.

"But I want to be," he says simply, keeping the disgustingly soppy _because I like my Xaviers to be happy_ to himself, and sighs. "Will you do me a favor and keep a watch on the body?"

"Of course," Raven says, and after a moment of assessment, shifts her form into the dead man. When she notices Erik's frown, she winks. "Just in case someone comes looking and we're not ready to give answers we don't have."

Erik gives her a tight-lipped smile. "What would I do without you."

"Die a horribly painful death, completely alone," Raven says, which sounds a bit strange coming from the booming Russian's vocal cords. She saunters over to one of Emma's still-pristine chaises and lounges there - again, strange in the body, but Erik is used to it. "Get going. I have this covered."

Raven is absolutely his favorite.

\---

It doesn't take long for Charles to get bored in their tiny room, because Azazel gets bored even faster than he does and has teleported off to somewhere that is undoubtedly far more fun than the dingy little room that is made of joyless cinderblocks and has an uneven throwaway Persian rug on the floor to halfheartedly disguise the fact the floor is poured cement.

He's fully aware they've done their best to turn him into a temporary political prisoner, and it's…well, it's not a surprising turn of events. Telepaths are rarely surprised, though often disappointed, and Charles is fairly certain that's what he's feeling now. Disappointment and boredom and yes, fine, a little bit lonely. He doesn't fault Azazel for wanting to do something other than loiter around in a boring room that reminds him a bit too much of storage containers.

Charles listens in, of course. It's quaint, how they think he can only read their minds when he's in the room when they all know he's capable of projecting over the entirety of Genosha. They're not very exciting, though. Mostly they're trying to figure out the 'mutant threat' and whether or not Charles is a horribly threatening creature they need to throw out of the UN and bomb his tiny traumatized island. He knows they're saying this because they're scared and new to the idea of mutants, but _really_?

He's starting to think Erik would have been a better choice for addressing the United Nations. A take no prisoners mindset might have gotten things done much smoother and simpler than Charles' attempts at political consideration and attempts at making them see the _homo sapiens_ in _homo sapiens superior_. Really, he's a geneticist, he's not cut out for this.

The man who knocks on the tiny room's door is nervous and uncertain, but Charles isn't in the mood to try and calm him down. The man doesn't seem to expect it either, simply opening the door and peeking in to see nothing incriminating whatsoever. It's not even an illusion - Charles has been doing nothing but sitting on the couch since they stuck him in the godforsaken broom closet.

"Sir, you have a phone call," the man says, and that certainly can't be a good thing. At all. "I'm to escort you to the reception desk."

God, Charles really needs to give Erik a lecture on how he should call something other than the main line to the United Nations. That's for tourists needing directions, not people running tiny countries. He sighs, stands, and says, "Of course. Please lead the way." Because clearly, an armed guard will make such a difference when it comes to Charles' behavior.

The people they pass in the halls all recognize him immediately, and are either uncertain or afraid. It's not exactly improving his mood, so Charles tries to ignore the stares and thoughts and tries to figure out what exactly has gone wrong on Genosha this time. He just hopes it isn't the children again.

The receptionist actually recognizes him, in a way that is surprisingly pleasant - she recalls him on the phone, and not as a terrifying telepathic mutant threat to society and all humanity. It's refreshing, and a bit depressing that it's refreshing. Still, he musters a smile for her before stealing her hastily-vacated chair and sitting down.

"What did I tell you about calling the main line?" Charles asks.

"Charles," Erik breathes out, and the tense relief in his voice immediately sets Charles on edge. "We have a problem."

Charles clears his throat. "I hope nothing important has exploded."

"A little worse than that. One of the Russian ambassadors was murdered and is bleeding all over Emma's carpet, and I don't even know what to do with the other three - one's barely out of his teens and running around with Alex, one's been prowling around and taking pictures of everything, and one's missing and presumed murderer at large."

"Well, that isn't very good news at all," Charles says, mind working furiously as he tries to add in yet another diplomatic travesty to this entire train wreck of a political expedition.

Erik breathes out into the receiver, long and frustrated. "You need to come home."

"I suppose I do, don't I," Charles says, and runs a hand over his face, because really, how awful can a day be? "The children are safe, I assume."

There's a long pause on the line. A very long, very worrying pause. "I'll check," he says, and Charles doesn't even have an opportunity to shout at him for not checking on the children when there's a murderer prowling around the building before Erik hangs up without a moment of goodbye. Which is usually endearing, but right now it just leaves Charles strangling the phone and breathing far more harshly than is reasonable.

He can't tell the countries that one of their ambassadors is dead by another's hand. He probably doesn't even have time to tell them he's leaving, not that they'd appreciate it. Charles will be labeled a coward, or dissentious, or as some other terrible thing he really isn't, but there's no point in postponing the inevitable. Not when there's a killer loose on his island with the people he cares most about in the world.

 _Azazel_ , he calls out brusquely, standing back up and giving the receptionist her chair back. His escort is obviously waiting to take Charles back to the broom closet, but Charles would prefer to teleport out with an audience. When he receives no reply, he frowns and extends his range outwards, actively seeking his mind.

He finds Azazel's mind in a guest office on the fourth floor, tranquilized deeply enough that if Charles tried to wake him it could be damaging, and if there's one thing that is a very bad idea, it's damaging the mind of a teleporter.

"Sir, I'm to take you back to the waiting area," the escort says, and Charles wonders how they caught Azazel. Perhaps it was simply luck, and they shot him right after he appeared, possibly directly in front of a guard just to toy with the man.

"I need to call him back," Charles says instead of following the escort's lead like a good little boy.

"I'm afraid I can't let you. I'm to take you back to the waiting area immediately after your call ends," the escort says.

Charles can't help it. He smiles at the man, slow and wry, because _of course_ this is happening. There's a reason he suppressed his powers for years and years, a reason that Raven's boyfriend tried to beat her to death with a cricket bat when she trusted him enough to drop her disguise. Likewise, there's a reason the ex-boyfriend thinks he's a five year old girl when he's not a drooling vegetable.

He hadn't ever thought of it as being wrong to be a mutant. A telepath, yes - sometimes he's still terrified of what he can do and how easy it would be - but a mutant? No. It's a genetic inevitability, one that these people don't seem to truly comprehend. It breeds hatred and violence and humans kidnapping his people for slave labor, and at the moment, Charles is absolutely sick of humoring them.

"You do understand who and what I am," Charles says.

It makes the man tense, his hand and mind twitching towards the pistol beneath his suit jacket, but he nods. "You're the Voice of Genosha, and a telepath," he says.

"And you're trying to keep me from calling my angry metal-controlling Nazi-hunting co-ruler fiancé regarding state business," Charles says. "Do you really think that's a wise course of action?"

"I don't," the escort says, and Charles can feel the iron resolve that straightens his spine in that moment. "But it's what I've been told to do, sir, and I follow my orders."

Charles can respect that. He's impressed by the man's willingness to stand up to him, but that doesn't mean the obstruction is welcome. "If you think you can stop me, you're welcome to try," Charles says, and pulls the phone closer to dial the number again. He doesn't have to stop the man from doing anything. He just stands there, watching and trying very hard to not be afraid of Charles Xavier.

 _How times have changed_ , Charles thinks as the call goes through, ringing.

And ringing.

And ringing.

Charles sighs on the twelfth ring, and says, "This can't be good."

\---

Erik hangs up, and feels like an absolute fool.

He's (comparatively) used to being in charge, used to needing to take care of people, but children are an entirely different sphere of responsibility. They're tiny and defenseless and there is a murderer in the crumbling blown-apart palace, and he'd just left them to roam around instead of thinking about the inevitable threat.

He doesn't run, but he certainly walks briskly towards the room he'd left Ororo and Magda's children ( _his_ children).

Erik starts coughing three halls away.

It's an unusual cough, like something's suddenly eating away at his lungs, and it leaves something cold and terrified in his throat. He reaches out with his power as he continues forward, even if there's nothing he can feel out of the usual. What he can feel is that the doors of the room the children had been in is now off its hinges, and he doesn't know if it was blown apart from the inside or ripped off and tossed aside from the outside, not without getting closer.

He notices a body against a wall, one of the humans who had stuck around even after the destruction of Old Genosha. They'd leaned against the side of the corridor before dying, leaving their corpse slumped in the hall, looking asleep despite the dried blood that had emerged from the man's mouth. Erik takes a moment to crouch down and look at the dead man, spotting a packet of papers next to his limp fingers and the open, bloodshot eyes staring at the floor.

How everything went to hell so fast, Erik has no idea.

He coughs again, but takes a moment to pick up the papers. It's a list of grievances against humans, he notices, ending with a plea for an unbiased police force to be formed as soon as possible. Erik also notices he had a meeting with Erik scheduled for two hours from now.

When he sets the papers back down next to the corpse, Erik starts coughing up blood.

It might be a contagion, coming from the man's body. More likely, it's from a chemical weapon, or even an angry mutant, adding yet another threat to Genosha. Either way, Erik stumbles to his feet and heads towards where he'd last heard the children.

They're gone, of course. The doors look like they were exploded from the inside, which is probably a good thing, but he still can't stop coughing. There's no more blood, but he feels weak, pathetic, and like a fool who can't even keep track of his own children. _Their_ children. If whatever contagion this is doesn't kill Erik, Charles surely will.

He hasn't even realized he's leaning against the doorframe and coughing blood up again before a hand comes to rest on his shoulder. Erik immediately snatches at the figure with his power, grabbing onto a thin necklace for one panicked moment before realizing said necklace belongs to Armando. Darwin. The man who adapts to survive.

"We've got them," Darwin says, sounding as if he's not even remotely affected, and starts pulling Erik away from the room and down another hallway. Erik is helpless to do anything but follow, listening to Darwin as he updates Erik as best he can. "We think one of the ambassadors is some sort of contagious killer mutant. Hank - that's the ambassador kid; he's actually more of a scientist who seems determined to emigrate here and took the first opportunity to get to Genosha - is cooking up some sort of breathing mask, and me and Nathaniel survive it just fine but he's still been hiding up on the roof with the others. I've been looking for other people to get them out, since I'm not sending _Nathaniel_ to evacuate people. The sickness seems to only last inside for now, so we know the source is in the corridors."

Erik nods, not feeling nearly as helpless the further they get from the ruined makeshift playroom. He manages to wipe the blood from his mouth five hallways away, and can breathe clearly when they reach the administrative side of the palace. He's still coughing, but it's not nearly as bad. "Raven and Emma?"

"Raven's on the roof, talking nonstop with the other US ambassador, who is a nice lady named Moira and acts like she's ready to actually do her job, even if she has to kill people to get the chance," Darwin says. "We've decided we like her. Emma, we haven't heard from."

And that's not good news, but. "I have to warn Charles," Erik says, even though it hurts. Breathing's getting easier, but it still makes him feel like his lungs are on fire. "Told him to have Azazel teleport him back."

"Then we'll do our best to broadcast nonstop for him to get out of the building when they teleport in," Darwin says. "You've got a strong enough link with him to get his attention as soon as possible, right?" When Erik nods, Darwin shrugs, and it jostles Erik enough that he realizes how much of his own weight he's leaving to Darwin. The other man can obviously handle it, but it's a matter of pride that makes Erik try to support himself at least a little more, even if he barely manages it. "Then the minute they teleport in, you'll feel it, and warn him. It'll be fine."

"Optimist," Erik says, and it makes Darwin laugh, opening the door to the roof entrance stairwell. Darwin doesn't even give him an opportunity to try and struggle his way up them, simply lifting Erik into a fireman's hold with his adaptive strength.

When Erik tries to protest, Darwin says, "I've had to carry forty other people up these stairs today and haven't told a soul about it, don't worry."

"Remind me to put you in charge of something," Erik chokes out.

"I'm in charge of the kids," Darwin says easily.

And really, that explains so much.

The roof of the Old Genoshan palace is ripped apart, with the gaping holes in the abandoned wing seeming even more disastrous when compared to the opulent rooftop gardens and overhangs beneath column-supported domes. Darwin sets him down a few feet before opening the door, and Erik is proud to say he does not fall down. He does end up stumbling through the door, and the tiny white-haired body suddenly flinging itself at him doesn't help any. Thankfully, Darwin's there to help hold him up all over again as Ororo starts to cry and cling.

God, he really wishes Charles was here to deal with this.

Wanda and Pietro look haunted, with Pietro more frightened while Wanda looks a little lost. When Erik glances at Darwin, he leans over and says, "They actually saw the sickness guy, but haven't said anything."

Erik holds Ororo a little closer, and manages to make his way away from the door and towards the twins. He notices the older children are stretched across the roof complex, in some attempt at patrolling and watching the walls in case the killer ambassador busts through to attack again. Raven and the female ambassador, Moira, are standing by the other ambassador, the kid, Hank, who is messing with something that looks like some sort of space-aged gas mask.

He takes a deep breath, and sits himself in front of the twins, transferring Ororo into his lap so her clinging is a little more comfortable. "Will you tell me what happened?"

"It was scary and I don't want to," Pietro says in a blur, grabbing onto Wanda's hand. "We started coughing, and we couldn't get out, and Ororo's cloud Puppy just kind of exploded the door and we ran and there was a big guy with a lot of blood on his stomach and we ran away but _couldn't_ because we were coughing but then." Pietro stops, staring at Erik. "Then I was fast, and Wanda and Ororo were far away but I could feel wind and then there was _red_ and we were here on the roof."

Erik nods, and tries to keep his expression as open as possible instead of glaring. He takes a deep breath, and figures he can give an incredibly truncated version of The Mutant Talk. "Your powers manifested," Erik says. "They usually do that when you feel scared or threatened. We can work through that later, though. What did the man look like?"

"His name is Arkady Rossovich," an unfamiliar voice says, and Erik looks away from the children to see the ambassador, Moira, standing to the side. "All I know is the Soviets rushed to get him to the teleport point, and that's why the US chose to send _us_." She motions towards herself and Hank, frowning. "We're CIA. Not that I think Hank's going to be CIA _anymore_ , or that I'm going to be sticking around with them. But either way, they knew Rossovich is a threat. I don't think they knew he was a mutant, though."

Erik nods. "Assassin?"

"Probably," Moira says. "I don't know his target, though. I would have thought it'd be _you_ , but since Rossovich immediately took off the moment he arrived, he probably has a different motive."

"Not immediately," Erik says. "The other Soviet ambassador's dead."

"I know the other ambassador was an _actual_ ambassador," Moira offers.

"So he effectively kept any negotiations on behalf of the USSR from happening," Erik says, even though he has no idea what that means. "And now he's contaminated the entire administrative building of Genosha, meaning we can't do anything but sit up here and hope we don't die."

"Most of the staff has gone into the city," Darwin says, which certainly explains the lack of a hundred people loitering around on the roof. "I couldn't get most of the humans out after the first five minutes. Raven's the one who saved Moira."

Erik nods, already having figured that humans are more affected than mutants. It's another strange tactic - killing the humans, despite orders being given (theoretically) by humans. "We need to find the man and..." He hesitates, looking at the three tiny faces watching him. "And take care of him."

"What do you mean, _we_?" Raven crosses her arms, frowning at him. "You're Imperator. You don't get to risk your life, not with Charles potentially being held hostage at the UN."

"Damn it, Raven," Darwin says.

Erik is very, very careful to let go of Ororo and carefully move her to his side before turning to Raven. He takes a long, deep breath, and looks at her. "Explain," he says, because if today is determined to be one of the worst days of his life, apparently it has to go all the way.

\---

The first thing Charles does is demand a phone in the broom closet they're still insisting he stay in. It takes a while, but they agree to let him have the phone if he _swears_ he won't leave the room, and fine. Charles can deal with that. Azazel's not waking up any time soon, it feels like, so why not agree to their ridiculous paranoia-based requests?

The phone's a shoddy old thing, but it keeps ringing and ringing, and that's all Charles really needs. It's connected, but it seems there's nobody there to answer. He settles himself down on the couch, kicking off his shoes and stretching out, listening to the droning endless ringing.

The second thing Charles does is _politely request_ they bring Azazel down to the broom closet. It scares them when they realize he knows they've tranquilized his favorite teleporter, of course, but when they say no, Charles doesn't push. It's not like it would really change anything if Azazel was unconscious in the broom closet instead of the guard room, other than saving him a teleport. At least they're kind enough to bring him some food, _finally_.

It's probably a good hour before someone answers, with a hoarse, "That better be you, Xavier."

"Emma," Charles says, surprise leaving him blinking at the wall. "What's going on there?"

"The ambassador who killed the other ambassador has some sort of deadly pheromones he's spreading around," Emma says, and stops to let out a cough. "It's killing people and is also _disgusting_."

Charles moves to sit on the edge of the couch, frowning. "Is everyone okay?"

"Most of the humans in the palace are dead. All of the humans who had more than five minutes of exposure," Emma says. "It's killing mutants, too, but takes longer. I've been staying in diamond form and I still ended up with a mild case."

"What about Erik and the children?"

"No idea," Emma says. "But I'm _done_ with this, Charles. I can't use my telepathy in this form, so I can't find him. Get here."

"Azazel's...indisposed," Charles says.

"Charles, you might fool everyone else, but I'm a telepath," Emma states. "He's not indisposed unless you're okay with him being indisposed."

There's a good bit of truth in that, but Charles _does_ have lines he doesn't cross. He has many, many lines, and isn't keen on toying with them. Ever. "I'm sure Erik is keeping them safe."

"I thought you were done being afraid of yourself," Emma says, and coughs again. It's a hoarse, hacking cough, with a strange tinkling noise that Charles assumes has something to do with her diamond form. "Well, sugar, your country needs you. Whether you care more about your conscience or your people is in your hands, Voice of Genosha."

She hangs up with another hacking cough, and Charles follows suit with a sigh. _My conscience or my people_ , he thinks, and decides.

Convincing the guard outside to open the door is barely a flicker in his mind compared to trying to carefully wake Azazel up. Charles walks out the door while slowly coercing Azazel's mind that the sedative is wearing off, but slowly. The mind of a teleporter is a tricky thing, trickier than most other mutants and impossibly complicated compared to the average human. It will probably take Azazel twenty minutes to wake up again, possibly a little less, which makes Charles smile to himself as he walks towards the General Assembly all over again.

Plenty of time for some parting remarks before he goes and saves Genosha. Again.

\---

Erik decides that the United Nations is a piece of shit impossibly useless system about five minutes into Raven's explanation.

He decides he's going to destroy it about fifteen minutes after that.

"They send an assassin as an ambassador, lock Charles up and treat him like a political prisoner, and think they can get away with it?" Erik hisses out. Ororo and the twins had, thankfully, decided to go pester Hank about the invention he's tinkering on. "What do they think we are, toothless monsters?"

"Basically, yes," Moira says. "They think you _can_ bite, but you'll just keep barking instead. When it really is you against the world, that's what usually happens."

"Then they're in for a surprise," Erik says grimly.

Raven sighs. "Are we forgetting that Charles has _let_ all of this happen? He has to have some sort of plan or reason for going along with this."

Erik isn't so certain, considering the man had considered his mutation some sort of curse and locked himself away from it for years, but keeps the thought to himself. Moira doesn't need to know that Charles might not be willing to bite the hand that keeps swatting at them. All she needs to know is that Erik most definitely will. "Then his plan is a bad one," Erik says instead. Raven rolls her eyes, but it makes Moira's lips quirk. "We have more information, and need to use it." He turns to look at Darwin. "Do you think our assassin could keep while we rescue Charles?"

"He doesn't need rescuing," Raven says.

"And your priorities are kind of screwed up," Moira adds.

The conspiratorial glance between the women is _not_ lost on Erik, but he ignores them, waiting for Darwin's answer.

"I think we can keep this guy inside the building, if you get in and out of there _fast_ ," Darwin says. "Rossovich seems like a patient guy, ready to wait for us to come to him. I don't know about you, but I'd rather have a telepath hunting him with us through a cloud of deadly illness than take my chances without."

"How are you planning to get to Charles fast enough, anyway?" Raven asks. "We don't have any other teleporters who can make that kind of jump. Planning to get an airplane and park it in front of the UN building?"

"Tempting, but no," Erik says. "I was planning to fly."

"You can't land," Raven states.

"Which is why I'll crash through the ceiling," Erik says, not terribly bothered by the idea. "Then, we'll teleport back with Azazel."

"Since when can you fly?" Darwin asks.

"He was experimenting, before Charles," Raven says. "Something to do with the electromagnetism part." She sighs, and gives Erik a grudging look of approval. "He _is_ pretty fast. Even if he can't land."

"The entire planet is covered by a magnetic field, Raven, not just the land parts," Erik says, and looks around the roof again, at the children trying to be sentinels and how, amazingly, they seemed to be doing a good job of it. "And you're sure you'll be fine while I'm gone?"

"Of course not," Darwin says. "But do we have a choice?"

Erik sighs, and nods, standing smoothly and realizing quickly that this will be a very, very unpleasant trip in just pants and shoes and a shirt. A coat or gloves or a hat, or even a helmet considering the inevitable crash landing, would make this much more comfortable.

He feels out the world, the endless push and pull that he's had an easier time identifying ever since he got used to feeling for Charles' constant gentle mental tug. It's the pulse of the planet, and he has to remember to breathe. He always does, when he does this. It's times like these that Erik wonders if Charles feels like this _all the time_ , so many minds calling out around him.

"And there he goes," Raven says dryly, but Erik doesn't acknowledge it. Instead he tries to keep in mind what the physical world looks like (much easier to do when he concentrates on the feel of metal in the building and the dome above them instead of trying to remember where ledges are) as he convinces his mind that Erik is made of metal, and can follow the pulse of the world just as easily as the rest of the metal in the world can.

He hops off the ledge of the roof and doesn't even sink a few feet down, probably looking like he's standing on thin air. Erik breathes, and points himself towards Charles, letting the planet and that _sense_ of its pulse do the rest of the work for him.

\---

Charles walks into the General Assembly through the front door with a bit of a hop in his step, and also wearing a much more reasonable outfit - slacks, comfortable shirt, wool cardigan, reasonable but slightly worn brown shoes, and the engagement ring he doesn't wear very often simply because it _catches_ on things and makes noise when his hand knocks into surfaces and generally seems a bit of a nuisance. Still, he's making a point, and that includes the silly bit of tradition around his finger.

The assembly's collective whispers become more of a roar when he mounts the stage and heads towards the speaker's podium, giving the president and his grudging but acceptant frown a somewhat respectful nod before turning to the delegation. "Hello again," Charles says, and leans against the podium like he tried so very hard not to last time. "First, yes, I'm in your mind and translating for you. Second, that is _all_ I'm doing in your mind, and I know you won't believe me but I swear on my life that it's the truth. Third, I tried this your way, and it didn't work, so we'll be doing this my way now, with me being what I _truly_ am."

"And what would that be, Voice of Genosha?" the president behind him asks.

Charles turns towards him, and grins. "A genetics professor."

The room rumbles again, and fine. Charles lets them, for a moment, before continuing on.

> I tried being a politician, and an advocate, and a leader, but at my core I'm a professor of genetics who just happened to be born with a genetic mutation and was in the wrong place at the right time and somehow became the leader of a tiny island full of truly amazing people. I tried convincing you with political reasoning, military reasoning, emotional reasoning, psychological reasoning, and I don't think it really worked. So, here are the _facts_ , that anyone with a PhD in genetics and a concentration on the X-gene could tell you.
> 
> Mutation more commonplace than you think. Blue eyes, red hair, exceptionally good or bad eyesight, acute hearing, above average lung capacity - these are all comparatively everyday mutations. I see at least seventy of you in the room are already mutants. At its core, mutation is simply a genetic difference from the most basic DNA code for a species. There are some more extreme examples that you're undoubtedly familiar with, such as albinism. I think that we would all agree that someone with albinism is still human, even though they look different.
> 
> Likewise, I have a mutation that makes me different from the basic genetic code for humanity. It's more extreme than albinism - well, _arguably_ , depending on whether you follow appearance criteria or capability or percentage of genetic difference - but it's still a simple genetic mutation. The metahuman mutation is based off of the X-gene - yes, named after me, I did discover it and write the paper after all - and it's a _single gene_. I am one single genetic trait different than everyone else in this room.
> 
> But I'm not petitioning you for equal rights for just my sake. I'm also looking towards the future, because based on the imported slave population of Genosha, the rate of evolution in the human genetic code in regards to the X-gene is monumental, jumping nearly 400% from the 30-40 age group to the 20-30 age group. Considering that the effects of the X-gene, commonly referred to as metahuman abilities, rarely surface before puberty or a traumatic experience, and also the added difficulty Genosha would encounter if attempting to abduct someone under the legal age of adulthood, I don't have any reliable statistics for the percent increase for X-gene carriers under the age of 20.
> 
> However, if the presence of the X-gene continues to increase incrementally, there will be a one in twenty chance of someone being born with superhuman abilities by 1980. A one in _ten_ chance by 1990. By 2010, a fourth of the world's births will be mutants. If one of your children isn't a mutant, one of your grandchildren very likely will be. One of your great-grandchildren _definitely_ will be.
> 
> You can't stop genetic progress, not without killing every single X-gene carrier, which includes the 66% who _don't_ have powers. You can't stop mutation. You can't pick us out in a crowd, you can't sterilize gene carriers or bloodlines, you can't even know whether or not your children are mutants, not until long past puberty and a traumatic experience. Here is the simple, unalterable, scientific _fact_ of mutants: we aren't a problem. We are an _inevitability_.
> 
> To consider mutants _inhuman_ is to-
> 
> Oh.
> 
> Oh, dear.
> 
> Second Genoshan Address to the United Nations,  
>  Charles F. Xavier, Voice of Genosha,  
>  April 19, 1963.

\---

The minute Erik gets near New York, he thinks that a helmet would've been a _really_ good idea. He doesn't even know how fast he's going, beyond _I'm fast enough that I had to make a magnetic shield around myself and manipulate that instead of myself_ , and also that it's fast enough that he barely has time to recognize Charles in his mind before he's ripping the General Assembly's roof apart.

 _NOW IS NOT THE TIME ERIK_ Charles projects very, very loudly when he starts bending the rafters.

Erik really doesn't have the time to argue, beyond a frantic, _CHARLES I AM GOING TO CRASH_. That, of course, gets a response, namely Charles suddenly piggybacking in his mind and offering up some extra brain capacity for Erik to multitask more efficiently. They don't do this often, but it's a regular enough occurrence that Erik sends a pulse of _gratitude_ and manages to balance himself correctly, pushing back on the ever-present magnetic pull of the planet's surface (and the metal in the building itself) to descend at a reasonable, _safe_ speed and landing right next to a very unfashionable-looking Charles.

"Hello, Erik," Charles says dryly, lips quirking like they can't decide between frowning or grinning, sunlight shining through his hair. _And that's very flattering, but we have a bit of a problem now that you destroyed the ceiling and interrupted my speech._

"Charles," Erik replies, sparing a glance for the mass of gape-mouthed people staring at them. "I heard how you were being treated."

"Oh, I'm fine," Charles says, and seems to have settled on frowning. "And I _was_ planning to come back right after this speech. It's gotten worse?"

Erik considers just saying _yes_ and pulling Charles towards wherever Azazel's at and teleporting them home, but instead he considers the podium.

 _No,_ Charles projects at him, the word drawn out like a disbelieving gasp, eyes widening.

 _Oh, yes indeed_ , Erik projects right back, and doesn't give Charles a chance to object. It doesn't stop Charles from projecting an endless wave of _disapproval_ at him, but Erik's more than willing to put up with that to face the assembled representatives of the United Nations and tell them what _morons_ they are.

"In case you couldn't tell, I'm the Imperator of Genosha," Erik says casually, and watches half of the crowd shrink back. "I'm here to take my fiancé home and have him help me kill one of the ambassadors we let you send in good faith, because said ambassador has killed not only _another_ of the good faith ambassadors, but also half of the human administrative staff of Genosha. Really, I appreciate you all deciding to send us a mass murderer. It's been an excellent bonding experience with the children."

"Erik," Charles chides aloud, but very obviously doesn't mean it since he's still making a point of translating Erik's words for everyone in the room. And also barely restraining himself from glaring at them right along with Erik. Still, the benefit of being the leaders of the Independent Sanctuary of Genosha means they can play good-Voice bad-Imperator with the UN. It helps that everyone always (erroneously) thinks Erik is the more dangerous one. "I'm sure there's a reasonable explanation."

"Is there," Erik says, and looks straight at the two men sitting behind the **CCCP** plate.

"The Union of Soviet Socialist Republics has no idea what you're talking about," one of the men says, and when Erik gives them a _look_ the man continues, "No, really! We sent you Pavel and Gregor! Gregor couldn't even find the pointy end of a knife, and Pavel faints at the sight of blood!"

"You sent us Arkady Rossovich, the toxic murderous mutant intent on killing everyone he comes across, regardless of who or what they are," Erik says.

"He's telling the truth," Charles says, frowning, and Erik watches his fingers rise to his temple. "They really didn't send Rossovich. Although...oh. Well. You can find Pavel's _body_ on the fourth floor in the ladies' room, as an unfortunate janitor just found out. Gregor is the man you found dead on Emma's carpet."

 _How'd Rossovich take his place, then?_ Erik asks, and receives nothing but a mental shrug in reply. He sighs, and turns back to the assembly, glaring at them some more because they deserve it. "I'll make this short. From now on, Genosha will have a peacekeeping organization for the protection of _all_ mutants, regardless of nationality, and they will answer to me."

"And on that note, there'll also be one answering to me that's for the protection of _all_ ," Charles adds, giving Erik a sharp look that Erik doesn't feel the slightest bit chastised by.

"More details on that later, after getting rid of our _problem_ ," Erik says, and turns back to Charles. "Where's Azazel?"

"Five seconds," Charles says, sounding the slightest bit absent, which means he's tinkering about in someone's head.

Like clockwork, Azazel teleports in five seconds later, tail swishing furiously.

"Fix the ceiling before we go, please?" Charles asks.

"I'll do it later," Erik says, and grabs onto Azazel's arm. "To the roof, please. The interior is toxic at the moment."

"Why did we ever leave?" Azazel asks darkly, and doesn't give either of them time to answer before teleporting away from the United Nations.

\---

The moment Charles is back on Genosha, he gags, mind swarming with _fear_ more intense than he'd ever felt before, even more than before the liberation. They'd been resigned, then. Now, they were absolutely terrified, and Charles' intimate relationship with Genosha leaves him almost retching from the force of it. Erik is there, of course, his presence like a warm fluffy blanket draped over him that also happens to be vengeful and practically bulletproof.

"You should have fetched me _hours_ ago," Charles says, leaning against Erik for a long moment, keeping his eyes closed and grounding himself in Erik.

"I didn't think it would get to be this bad," Erik admits, an arm wrapped around his shoulders. Charles can feel the unspoken, unprojected offer of a minor shielding around his mind, but Charles shakes his head. He needs to be alert, and ready. "Are you ready for this?"

"Only one way to find out," Charles says, and turns himself to searching for Rossovich's mind in the palace.

"Professor Xavier!" someone shouts, and Charles jerks out of his mind to see an eager young man in a suit holding out a very...unusual-looking gas mask, with some sort of silvery sheen around it. "I've only built one, so far, but I can guarantee it'll get someone in and out safely, for about fifteen minutes. After that, you run out of air."

"I can't even run across the building in fifteen minutes," Erik mutters.

The young man - Hank, Charles picks up - wavers for a moment, but Charles beams at him, plucking the gas mask from his hands. "Then we'll be sure to get you as close as possible, won't we?" Charles says. "Thank you very much for this, Hank. I hope we can work together, in the future. You have a very promising mind."

Hank blushes, smiling at the same time. "Are you reading my mind?" he asks.

"Not really. I'm reading his, about you," Charles says, motioning lazily towards Erik. When Hank frowns, Charles rolls his eyes and adds, "Yes, I'm welcome there. Erik?"

"He's welcome," Erik says, indulging him before frowning at Hank. "I'm marrying a _telepath_. What did you think I'd be doing, shutting him out?"

"Let's not browbeat the poor boy," Charles says, and hands the gas mask over to Erik's ready hands. "Thank you very much, Hank. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have a murderer to hunt down."

Hank leaves them with something that could be either a very awkward and confused bow, or a very deep and jerky head-nod. Charles does his best to not bring Erik's attention to the fact there's a bit of _endearment_ already in his thoughts right along with the frustration - Erik finding out they have yet another kid to add to their ranks would probably be excessive, after the twins too.

Speaking of, when Charles glances around to spot them, there's nothing. No Ororo, either. When he glances up at Erik, asking the question mentally, Erik sighs. "The children are with Nathaniel, Angel, and Darwin, in case we fail. Darwin and Nathaniel are the only ones who can survive the toxin."

"Why Angel?" Charles asks absently, sitting himself down on one of the nearby stone benches as he lets his mind stretch out, concentrating on skimming the palace.

"Does Nathaniel listen to anyone else?" Erik asks, and Charles concedes the point. He also drops the conversation, concentrating completely on finding Rossovich. He passes over the unsettling dying flickers of many people's minds; the dead leave something like embers in their brains, in the first few hours after death, like an echo of them is left behind, and Charles is _never_ going to look through that, no matter how much easier it would make his search.

He finds Rossovich, frustratingly enough, in the pool. It's close to one of the larger holes in the roof, in the abandoned wing of the palace, but it also happens to be a room with one door in or out, and the pool equipment is made of wood and plastic. There are small metal railings near the carved-in ladders of the pool, but unless Erik's ripping the entire pool out from the floor through the pipes, Erik is going to have to bring weaponry and equipment in with him.

When Charles says as much, Erik doesn't seem surprised. It makes Charles smile, because of course Erik didn't think there would be anything easy about this. He watches Erik pull metallic debris out from what seems like nowhere, pulling it to himself with not the slightest bit of trouble.

"Rossovich's mind is strangely complicated, a bit like a teleporter's or trying to read a sleeping Darwin, but I can probably keep him in check," Charles says.

Erik smirks, wrapping a chain around himself. "This isn't the time for finesse, Charles."

Charles thinks about mentioning that there's a chance he could, in fact, kill Rossovich with nothing but his mind, but there are lines Charles refuses to cross, and ones Charles _knows_ he can never cross if he ever wants to come back. Erik wouldn't ask it of him, and Charles isn't inclined to offer, so he shrugs and says, "I don't know about you, but I'd like to ask the man some questions."

"I'm fine with just taking his life," Erik says, completely nonplussed and absolutely disinclined to even think about keeping him alive, and stops his preparations to look Charles straight in the eye. "You're out of his head the minute I know I'll be fine."

"There's no such thing as a definite win," Charles says.

Erik frowns. "Charles, I mean it."

Charles considers telling him _no_ , and then considers lying and saying _yes_ , but settles on, "As soon as I know you'll be safe."

"Thank you," Erik says, even if they can both see the loophole, because they both know it's the best compromise they'll manage.

Really, Charles thinks more couples should constantly be in each other's minds. It makes everything so much more efficient.

Erik floats himself down through the gaping hole in the ceiling. Well, to be approximate, he floats the chains wrapped around him down through the hole, but either way it gets him down there, safe and sound. It leaves Charles surrounded by people who have no idea what he's seeing down there, and Charles is intent on keeping it that way.

 _I'll be fine, Charles,_ Erik projects towards him, both affectionate and frustrated, and Charles sends along a burst of _acceptance_ as he starts leading Erik towards where Rossovich is sprawled in a pool, waiting for this moment.

\---

Erik is used to hunting people down. He's not used to doing it with a familiar voice in his head directing him towards his quarry, but Erik isn't going to complain about that. There's the sense of a manhunt, but without the vicious primal satisfaction he feels when it's an escaped Nazi he's going to kill. It's urgent, and necessary, and mostly he feels like he needs to get it done and _protect_ people.

Which is...new.

 _And hopefully a welcome change,_ Charles comments, pointing him down yet another hallway.

The gas mask that Hank had made is an airtight contraption that didn't take Erik very long to figure out it's more a makeshift filtration system in a space suit helmet than an actual gas mask. His skin itches, but he can still _think_ , still calculate, still keep his wits about him in the fight ahead.

 _I think we should keep Hank,_ Erik says, because anyone who can build a space helmet with a filtration system in a limited amount of time with whatever they could grab during an evacuation seems like a good addition to their country. _Even if he's human._

 _He's not, actually. Hank McCoy is a mutant, albeit a heavily repressed one,_ Charles says. _And he's not going anywhere. Also, the door on your left is to the pool._

Erik nods, since even if Charles can't see it he can feel the intention behind it. He doesn't quite cut Charles off from his thoughts, but he does put a slight barrier between them, like a curtain that keeps Charles from immediately seeing what Erik is planning to do. He's killed with Charles in his head before, and Erik never intends to do it again. Not without some filtering, at least.

He considers the door, and his options, and then shrugs and rips the hinges apart with a twist of his hand. The metal shrieks as it twists inwards and blows the doors into the pool, one landing on the edge of the water while another smashes some of the furniture to pieces.

Old Genosha had been very fond of massive double doors. Erik is starting to agree with them.

Erik's hearing is impaired by the helmet-gasmask, but he can still make out a chuckle and clapping when he enters the room, already uncurling the chains from around his body.

At a glance, Rossovich is a fit gentleman in a black suit with a red shirt and tie who just happened to decide to lounge around in the shallow end of the pool fully-clothed. His hair's a long pale blond ponytail, and his skin is the unhealthy pale of the long-time imprisoned. Charles must be translating and amplifying Erik's hearing, because when Rossovich speaks, Erik can hear him clear as day, as if the man's right beside him.

"Quite a presentation, Imperator," Rossovich says when he stops applauding, and quickly pulls himself out of the pool. "The voice in my head, you trust him?"

Water sloshes off of him in the swift movement, leaving a puddle around him and Erik's attention on the hammer and sickle pin on his lapel. Particularly its very sharp point. He feels for the metal in Rossovich's body, and finds a single pin in his leg, and a knife in a holster beneath his right ar. It's not much, but it's enough.

Erik simply nods in reply to Rossovich's question, moving deeper into the room. The pool separates them, the bottom of it covered in debris. Erik would prefer to get closer, but he figures this is as good as he'll get.

The chains whip through the air towards Rossovich, fast and angry, and Rossovich is _fast_ , dodging the first pass. The first chain sails over his head, but the second chain manages to catch him around the ankle until Rossovich twists away. The water is having an effect, though - he slips, just slightly, and it lets Erik manipulate the first chain around him in a constrictor hold that leaves Rossovich choking.

 _You only have five minutes left_ , Charles reminds him. Erik doesn't bother responding, instead simply walking around the edge of the pool and towards Rossovich, doing his best to ignore the burning and itching that has his fingers twitching more and more as he approaches.

The amount of give Rossovich is managing is impressive, but Erik _is_ the chains, and there's no way in hell that Rossovich is getting out of them. Every single bend he manages is immediately warped back into place, every broken link reforging itself.

Rossovich has attacked their children, murdered his people, ruined Charles' UN peace attempts, and destroyed much of Genosha's chance to be a true sanctuary, a peaceful, _safe_ place. It takes a colossal amount of self-restraint to project to Charles, _If you have questions for him, now is the time._

Immediately, Rossovich lets out a pained whimper, eyes fluttering in a way Erik recognizes as what happens when Charles skims through someone's mind without being careful about it. It takes only a moment before Rossovich slumps as far as the chains will let him, kneeling and looking truly, deeply braindead.

Charles is a glorious, beautiful example of mutation if ever there was one.

What's left of Rossovich dies with a squeeze of Erik's hand, fingers closing into a fist right along with the chains that start to strangle him, and then snap his neck. There's no satisfaction in the death, only a feeling of _good riddance_.

Except, Erik notices, the pain in his body has yet to go away.

Charles notices right along with him, because there's a sudden burst of _panic_. They'd assumed the effect of his mutation would disappear with Rossovich's death, but it still claws at his skin, and Erik has three minutes of space helmet gas mask protection left.

 _I'll be fine_ , Erik projects, even if it's a lie, and tries to run for the door and _leave_ , through any exit available, but his body can barely manage jogging. He leaves Rossovich's body where it slumped to the floor, still kneeling, without a second glance. Erik can feel Charles doing his best to find a fast way out of the building, but there isn't one. It's why Old Genosha built it that way, after all.

 _Turn right_ , Charles projects, and Erik obeys.

It leads him right to a dead end in the labyrinthine palace, staring at nothing but a wall and feeling his lungs start to constrict.

For a moment, a very brief moment, Erik remembers Rossovich's question. _The voice in my head, you trust him?_

Which is when the wall explodes in a burst of red energy that seems to come straight down from the ceiling, and Erik is face to face with Sean Cassidy when the kid jumps down through the debris, staring at him as he grabs Erik around the shoulders and puts a very thin sheet of metal around them both, like a metallic blanket. He's already coughing blood, Erik notices, and Erik tries to attribute the sudden burst of _panic_ to Charles, but he can't manage that. Not when one of their children is risking his life to get Erik out.

Erik does his best to take hold of the metal around them, and he manages, barely, to get them moving upwards. He has to stop when he starts coughing blood into the gas mask, though, and Sean rips it off his face before Erik can even paw at it.

 _Take over,_ Erik projects.

_I don't have the control you do, I could rip you apart or squish you or-_

_Just do it,_ Erik projects back, because he refuses to die, he refuses to stand here and watch Sean cough himself to death just because Erik didn't pay enough attention to the time he had left.

 _Oh dear lord,_ Charles says, as close to praying as Charles ever gets, and suddenly they're shooting upwards in a burst of power that Erik can tell is too much. Far, far too much. They rocket upwards, too high, and Sean starts to scream and Charles is frantically babbling in his head, and Erik thinks, _enough_.

And suddenly, they're standing on the roof in a burst of red light, staring down at Pietro and Wanda and Ororo. Ororo is hanging onto Wanda, Pietro staring at them both, and Wanda's stubborn little chin is quivering, like she's about to cry.

"I don't want to lose a dad too," Wanda says, and thank god Charles is there to scoop her up and hug her, because Erik is still trapped in metal with Sean gasping next to him. When he gets himself free, Ororo is immediately there to cling to him, Pietro holding Wanda's hand while staring at Erik.

Hugging three tiny children at once is...surprisingly nice.

"Thank you, Wanda," Erik says. "Thank you, all three of you."

Hugging three tiny _crying_ children, Erik quickly realizes, is not nearly as pleasant.

\---

The enormous navy leaves three hours after Erik deposits Arkady Rossovich's corpse on the beach with a very large sign that said **FEEL FREE TO CLAIM HIM**. They had to yank the body through the ceiling, since the palace was still infected, and was likely to be for a very long time. Emma Frost wandered out at some point and met up with the evacuees after getting a tally of the corpses inside, but the number of bodies that they can't retrieve is a waste of life that makes Charles _furious_.

All signs lead to Rossovich having operated on his own, or at least without the approval of the USSR, and it leaves them wondering who, exactly, is trying to destroy their tiny sanctuary island. Or mutants in general. Either way, every country seems to suddenly be very friendly.

It doesn't take long for that friendliness to be _expanded on_ , to say the least, since they remember a Genoshan pledge for superpowered assistance. The UN seems to be ignoring the facts Charles has given them, but any telepath could tell that it's trapped in their minds. They often think about it, but they certainly don't speak of it. And if they've also chosen to selectively ignore that Erik pledged a force only devoted to mutant-protecting right along with Charles' superpowered emergency assistance, they don't say so.

The United Nations doesn't say a lot of things, but they _do_ recognize Genosha as a country and admit the Independent Sanctuary of Genosha to their general assembly. Charles counts it as a success, even if Erik and Raven grumble about how they don't _need_ the rest of the world's approval.

Still, it's a step in the right direction in Charles' opinion. One more step to a happier, freer, rebuilt Genosha.

\---

ATTENTION GENOSHANS

ON BEHALF OF THE VOICE AND IMPERATOR OF GENOSHA, MUTANTS EVERYWHERE, AND THE WHOLE OF THE PLANET, TWO ORGANIZATIONS ARE BEING CREATED FOR THE PROTECTION OF MUTANTKIND, AND HUMANKIND. INFORMATION SESSIONS WILL BE HELD EVERY DAY FROM 10AM-12AM, AND/OR 1AM-3AM. EACH WILL COVER BOTH THE ACOLYTES AND THE X-MEN. THOSE WHO DO NOT ATTEND BOTH ORGANIZATIONS' SEMINARS WILL NOT BE PERMITTED TO SIGN UP FOR EITHER GROUP.

BASIC INFORMATION:

THE ACOLYTES ARE AN ORGANIZATION FOR WORLDWIDE MUTANT PROTECTION, SPONSORED BY IMPERATOR ERIK LEHNSHERR, AND ALSO SERVE AS THE MILITARY.

THE X-MEN ARE AN ORGANIZATION FOR WORLDWIDE PROTECTION OF ALL, SPONSORED BY VOICE CHARLES XAVIER, AND ALSO SERVE AS THE POLICE.

PAY IS EQUAL FOR BOTH ORGANIZATIONS. TERM OF SERVICE IS 3 YEARS. BASIC COMBAT AND POWER TRAINING IS PROVIDED FOR ALL APPLICANTS, AND ADVANCED COMBAT AND POWER TRAINING IS PROVIDED FOR ALL ACCEPTED INTO THE ORGANIZATIONS.

ALSO, HUMANS ARE WELCOME.

YES, REALLY.

**Author's Note:**

> This was written for the 2011 X-Men Big Bang on LJ, and has incredibly beautiful accompanying art by avienica, which can be found [here](http://avienica.livejournal.com/4912.html)! You should definitely go check it out!

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Ororo's Pet Cloud, Puppy](https://archiveofourown.org/works/5541149) by [chuunin7](https://archiveofourown.org/users/chuunin7/pseuds/chuunin7)




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